


Fools in love

by TheLadyOrTheTiger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternative Universe - Prince Alistair, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Maric is alive and nothing hurts, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9255701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyOrTheTiger/pseuds/TheLadyOrTheTiger
Summary: Prince Alistair and Cullen have been best friends since childhood. Other the years their feelings grew into something different, but they're both convinced that their affection is one sided. It takes a bit of outside influence for them to come to an understanding.





	1. Chapter 1

The music was too loud, the lights too bright, the scent of perfume too heavy in the air. Everything annoyed Cullen. He was not one for large celebrations, and usually tolerated them only because Alistair was by his side, making jokes and raising toasts. But this time his best friend was nowhere to be found. 

Being alone was definitely souring Cullen’s mood further. He gripped his cup of mead tightly, feeling the grooves digging into his palm. The mead was not strong enough, but it was the best he was going to get. He took a long drink, and quickly another. The cup was soon empty, so he exchanged it for a full one when a servant with a tray passed by him.

Just as he was taking the first sip, he heard it - the distinctive laugh, loud and honest. Alistair’s laugh. Cullen quickly turned towards the sound, relieved to know that the prince was going to join him soon. His smile died on his face when his eyes fell on Alistair. 

The prince was dancing with Lady Cecilia, looking at her intently, like she was the only person in the room. Lady Cecilia was… attractive, Cullen supposed, if one liked short slender brunettes. And apparently Alistair did like those, if the undivided attention he was giving her was anything to go by.

Alistair laughed again and spun lady Cecilia, and Cullen felt his teeth grinding together.

Lady Cecilia was not often at court, since she lived all the way in the Arling of Edgehall, but whenever she did visit, Alistair would spend quite a bit of time with her. They were good friends, Cullen used to think. There was even a time, when they were younger, that he resented that, fearing being replaced by her as Alistair’s best friend. Back then his fears were rather easily assuaged, but now he was starting to suspect that he was blind to what was truly developing between the two of them. 

How could he have been so blind? Now that he saw them together in a ballroom, dancing close, dressed in their best formal wear, and not playing with mabari puppies in the yard, getting dirt all over themselves, it was becoming obvious.

But then again why wouldn’t Alistair tell him anything about this? They shared everything. Or most everything, Cullen’s guilty conscience reminded him.

Maybe Alistair didn’t know his feelings for Lady Cecilia yet? Maybe  the change was so gradual that he simply hadn't realised what they were ? If that was the case, it was only a matter of time before he did.

Cullen should’ve been happy. Alistair was of a marriageable age - he should find a girl he liked, or else one was going to be found for him, and Lady Cecilia was the perfect candidate for a wife. The few times Cullen did speak to her, despite his prejudice, he found her intelligent, kind and witty. She also came from a wealthy and well respected family, which never hurt in such situations.

So why was the sight of Alistair enjoying this young woman’s company causing Cullen’s throat to tighten and his stomach to feel oddly heavy? 

There was a simple answer to that question. If Alistair were to marry, Cullen would lose his best friend. 

Well, not lose exactly, but he’d stop being the person Alistair cared for the most. Cullen’s heart twisted at the thought. Ever since they met, they were inseparable, and he could not imagine how his life would look when that came to an end.

What a strange twist of fate caused them to end up in this position, caused Cullen to get everything he always wanted, and then find himself losing something he never expected to want.

It’s been over ten years since that summer that changed the course of Cullen’s life. Over ten years since King Maric took his two sons on an excursion which was supposed to show them the land they were both bound to serve. 

It was as they were passing through the deeply insignificant village of Honnleath, that Prince Cailan fell ill, and the whole party had to stop. All of a sudden a small tent city appeared on a clearing near the forest. Cullen remembered how excited everyone in the village was. The king and his court, right there, in their tiny Honnleath. No one wanted the prince to be sick, but since it happened, they were glad he was sick in Honnleath.

At that time Cullen was rather timid and didn’t dare walk up to the encampment and talk with the knights, like he wished he could. He remained at the edge of the trees, staring at the men and women in armour with rapt attention, admiring their shiny battle gear and powerful weapons. How he wished he could be like one of them when he grew up - a strong and brave protector of those in need. But he knew those were just foolish dreams. He’d be a farmer like his father and his father before him. That was what happened to boys who grew up in Honnleath.

Still, that didn’t stop him from finding a long and solid stick, and pretending it was a sword, as he hid in the forest and run drills he spied the knights doing. It was during one of those times that a boy approached him, asking if he wanted to play with him. Cullen didn’t know the boy, and just stared at him uncertainly. The boy was not deterred by Cullen’s awkward silence. Instead he run back to camp, and came back with two perfectly made wooden swords and shields. When the beautiful toys were presented to him, Cullen didn’t hesitate to take them. When the boy lunged at him, Cullen worried that he was going to destroy them, but the boy didn’t seem to worry about that.

They played at fighting for what had to be hours, with the boy, who Cullen thought had to be a son of one of the knights, giving Cullen some pointers, constantly talking and making jokes.

When the sun begun to set, Cullen knew he had to return home. He promised the boy that he would be back to play with him the next day at the same time. 

As he was getting back home, Cullen realized that he didn’t actually know the boy’s name. He’d have to ask him the next day.

When Cullen’s chores were done the following day, he run to the forest to wait for the boy. It was not just the incredible sword that he wanted back in his hand. He enjoyed the boy’s company. Cullen didn’t make friends easily, but the boy took to him instantly, and Cullen found himself relaxing in his presence, talking more than he usually did.

As time passed, Cullen begun to worry that the boy wasn’t going to come back, but at last he saw him, running toward him, his mop of red-blond hair the first thing visible from between the trees. The boy apologized for being late and offered Cullen some sweets. Cullen had never had anything like the treats the boy gave him, and he scarfed the whole bag. His greed embarrassed him, but the boy just laughed, and promised to bring by more the next day.

Before they could get to their swordplay, Cullen remembered that he needed to know the boy’s name. The boy was reluctant in giving it, but at last relented. When Cullen heard it, he instantly dropped to his knees. The prince. He was playing with Prince Alistair the whole time! He couldn’t believe it.

The prince rolled his eyes, and helped Cullen up. He didn’t want to be treated like a prince, he said. He just wanted to have some fun. Cullen resisted the urge to bow in acquiescence.

Despite the prince’s protestations that he didn’t want any special treatment, Cullen was holding back as their swords clashed. The prince caught on to this soon enough, and demanded a fair fight. In the end Cullen gave in, and slowly he started behaving like the prince was just another boy.

That was strange. To think that a prince was almost like him - that he liked sweets and playing with swords and hated having to go to bed when he was told. The idea that a prince was told what to do shocked Cullen.

When they were parting, the prince told Cullen that he’d hope to see him the next day, but that it was not an order, that Cullen was not obligated to play with him. It made Cullen sad. The prince never knew who liked him and who just spend time with him because he was the son of the king, he realized. He’d never imagine feeling sorry for a prince, but he pitied him in a way.

Cullen assured the prince that he liked spending time with him, but he wasn’t sure if the other boy believed him.

The next day, Cullen decided to treat the prince as un-princely as he could. He gave all he had in their play-fights, and gloated when he won. It seemed to both annoy and delight Alistair.

The days rolled by like this, with them playing and talking. Cullen was fascinated by Alistair’s stories of life at court and actual swordplay lessons. He wished he could have a life like that, and didn’t quite understand it when Alistair complained. What he did understand was the feeling of loneliness Alistair talked about. Cullen felt like that at times. He had his siblings of course, but they didn’t understand his impossible dreams for the future.

Alistair listened to Cullen when he talked about his life as well, not looking bored with hearing about a mundane life of farmer’s son. Cullen at last had someone to talk to honestly, and he was quickly getting used to that.

Prince Cailan was not very seriously ill, but Alistair described, in probably unnecessary details, the variety of digestive afflictions which made travelling impossible. Cullen shouldn’t wish his prince ill, but he hoped that Cailan would remain indisposed for longer. If he recovered, they’d have to leave, and Cullen didn’t want to see Alistair go. 

Rationally, he knew it was bound to happen, but he pushed the thought away from himself. Instead he threw himself wholeheartedly into their duels and took Alistair around to all his favorite spots - to a small cave by a stream, to the clearing where wild fruit grew, to a hill where wild rams battled each other. He didn’t want to look to the future - he just wanted to make the present last.

When the dreaded day came, Cullen was devastated. He knew the inevitable had happened when he saw Alistair walking towards him, his eyes red like he had been crying. They would depart soon, Alistair told him, and Cullen felt like crying himself. They didn’t take out their swords that day, just sat close together and talked about how they were going to run away to join the Grey Wardens, so that they could stay together.

That night Cullen cried into his pillow, trying to keep himself quiet so as not to wake his siblings, yet unable to fully contain himself. Over the weeks of Cailan’s sickness, he grew closer to Alistair than he thought possible in such a short time. Why would the Maker bring him such an incredible friend, only to take him away? It was so very unfair.

He knew they weren’t going to join the Grey Wardens. Such things simply didn’t happen. He wanted to believe there was a sliver of hope, but he knew all was lost.  

That was why he was deeply shocked when the next morning he saw Alistair walking to him with a grin on his face. Was he happy now to be rid of Cullen?

It was not the case, as he found out. Alistair had a plan. He wanted Cullen to go with him to Denerim.

At first Cullen felt a wave of happiness wash over him, but then reality set in. That was impossible. Yet Alistair insisted that it wasn’t. Cullen could train to be a knight there and live in the castle with Alistair, if only he wanted to. Cullen was surprised that Alistair could ever doubt that. Remaining with him and learning to be an actual knight sounded like a dream. He didn’t want to let himself believe it was possible, lest he get disappointed. 

When they were heading their separate ways at the end of the day, Alistair swore that he was going to make it happen.

And make it happen he did. The next day King Maric was waiting with Alistair in the forest. Cullen dropped to his knees again, and was again raised up. The king sent his son away and talked with Cullen a while. It was hard to speak normally while in the presence of his king, but Cullen did his best, knowing that his future depended on it. King Maric was mostly trying to make sure Cullen truly wanted to be parted from his family and become a knight, that it was not just Alistair’s wish. Cullen must’ve convinced him, because soon they were walking to his parent’s house.

His mother and father were shocked to see the king at their door, and even more shocked at what he told them. King Maric and Alistair left them for the night, the king telling the Rutherfords that he was not commanding them, that they were free to refuse him.

That night Cullen’s parents cried. His siblings cried as well. And he cried too, but he knew what he wanted. He always dreamed of being a knight, and now he was given a chance. Not only that, but he was getting an incredible friend in the bargain. 

In the end his parents agreed to let him go. They told him they couldn’t stand in the way of his dreams. At the time he couldn’t truly appreciate what a sacrifice they were making, how scared for him they were, but he was eternally grateful to them.

And so when the time came, he left with the royal party. He came with just a few clean sets of clothes and a book of fairytales in a sack, and immediately he got his own horse, a pair of riding boots and a cloak. As they were riding away, he felt half a prince himself.

He couldn’t say that life in the palace was always an easy one. As the son of farmers, he was treated with disdain by many of the sons of the noble houses. In the presence of the king and prince they behaved as if he were one of their own, but when the royals were not there, they let him know what they thought of him.

It stung. It more than stung. It hurt deeply, but Cullen practiced ignoring them. Alistair’s and King Maric’s opinion of him were all that mattered. The king treated him almost like a third son, which made Cullen happy and proud, but at the same time it served to anger the noble boys even more. 

All Cullen could do was keep his head down and try to be the very best at all he did. He put a lot of time not only into his swordplay, but also into his studies of history, strategy and arithmetics. When he could, he would help the other boys, and some of them came around, forgetting their old prejudices and truly seeing him as an equal. There were of course a few who still treated him poorly, and Cullen took pleasure in defeating them during training. He knew it was not charitable to enjoy someone’s humiliation, but he hoped the Maker understood why he felt that way.

Through all of that, in every dark moment when he felt unworthy, or missed his family, Alistair was by his side. He always had a kind word or a joke for him. Cullen knew he’d never be alone. No matter how bad things would get, he never thought about leaving. He’d never be able to part from Alistair.

When talking to Alistair, Cullen tried to downplay what was happening to him. He didn’t want Alistair to worry or try to intervene on his behalf. Cullen knew Alistair didn’t exactly have it easy either. He personally beat up a boy who called Alistair a bastard behind his back. And that boy was not the only one who didn’t find Alistair’s presence at court appropriate. Maric legitimised Alistair, but not everyone wished to respect that. They had to be very careful, knowing Maric’s love for his son, but they always found ways to make Alistair’s life even a bit more difficult and unpleasant. 

Not knowing his mother was another thing that weighed heavily on Alistair. The king told him that she loved him a great deal, but couldn’t be with him, which was far less than he wished to know. From time to time he received letters or small gifts from her, but it was never enough. When he missed the woman he never knew, Cullen was there for him.

Despite how close they were, sometimes Cullen wondered what Alistair saw in him. He was awkward, serious, and deeply focused on his studies, while Alistair was quick-witted, carefree,  and had a more lax attitude when it came to the lessons they both attended. Cullen worried that Alistair would grow bored of him. They met as young boys, and at that age friendships were much more simple, built on the flimsiest of foundations. As they grew, would their differences not tear them apart?

Once he told Alistair of that fear, the expression of outrage on the princes face was something to behold. Alistair assured him that he couldn’t imagine getting tired of Cullen. They just fit, he said. One gave the other what he lacked. They understood each other, sometimes without words.

That made Cullen feel better. He stopped questioning their friendship, and treating any new boy their age, or Lady Cecilia as it were, as a potential threat or replacement. Things were going very well.

That is until Cullen found that stupid book. He was roaming the library in search of something to read, when he found a mysterious, dog eared book without a tittle. Curious, he took it to his room, and started reading. He was pleased with his choice at first. It appeared to be a standard story of adventure shared by two knights bound by a deep friendship. About a third of the way in, Cullen felt a bit strange. The interactions between the knights were portrayed in an odd way, almost… romantic. He dismissed the absurd notion out of hand. Two men in love with each other? What nonsense.

That was what he thought until the two knights shared a passionate kiss. Cullen was utterly shocked. He’s heard the whispers, the tales that two men could be… intimate. But it was wrong, he knew. And there was no place for love in such illicit things. Yet the characters in the book professed their undying affection for each other.

He should’ve stopped then, threw the book into the hearth and be done with the whole thing. But he kept reading, scandalized, curious and oddly touched. When Ser Garion went to face the witch alone, to save Ser Laurence, Cullen couldn’t doubt his love. And when Ser Laurence arrive in the nick of time to aid him, and wept over the unconscious body of his beloved, Cullen shed a tear or two.

And then came the  _ scenes _ . Cullen knew what happened between a man and a woman, but he couldn’t imagine what exactly two men did together. He could blame his curiosity for continuing reading the book, instead of getting rid of it, like any good Chantry attending young man would. But he felt more than curiosity as he read. His traitorous cock hardened as he read about Ser Laurence kissing Ser Garion’s neck and wrapping his hand around his manhood. And then Ser Garion was sinking to his knees and taking Ser Laurence’s cock into his mouth, and Cullen’s instantaneous reaction to the image shamed him deeply. 

As he was washing up, he promised himself that he was going to destroy the infernal book that lead him astray. And yet the next evening he was reading it still. He hid it under his mattress, frightened that someone would find it, but unable to let it go.

He hardly slept after that, plagued with fear as to what his reaction to the book meant. Was he one of those disgraceful men he heard about, those that others ridiculed for their sinful desires? What would happen when someone found out, or even just suspected? Would he lose Alistair’s friendship and his position at court? That could never happen. He wouldn’t allow it to happen. He would ignore any feelings he might have and act like a normal man.

Despite that assurance he made to himself, he felt anything but normal. And what was worse, when he looked at Alistair, he started to wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, to hold his hand, to have him close. He hated himself for those thoughts. Alistair was his friend, his prince, practically his brother.

He hated the book with a passion then, for giving him those feelings. He wouldn’t have them if he hadn’t read it, he was sure.

But as time passed and he had more time to think about it, he started to realize that even before that horrid book, he always did seek Alistair’s touch, feeling a strange warmth when Alistair embraced him or sat very close to him, shoulder to shoulder, their legs pressed together. Now Cullen saw those gestures in a different light. Alistair was of course entirely blameless in this. He was just warm and affectionate, and it was Cullen who was depraved, twisting what they shared into something dirty.

He tried to distance himself from Alistair, at least physically, but Alistair didn’t seem to notice, always too close, too warm, too attractive. Cullen always knew that his friend was good looking, but he considered it just a fact of life, like the certainty that the sky was blue or that Sister Clarice was going to berate Alistair for being late to morning prayers. It was impossible not to notice his vivid brown eyes, his charming smile, his strong jaw, his toned muscles. Now Cullen started to realize that maybe the fact that he paid such close attention to those things was not so normal after all.

Alistair was never shy, and in the warm months he would often train without a shirt, and Cullen could never understood why he was so distracted then, why he was losing to his friend. Now he knew. 

He wasn’t sure what was the worst part of the whole ordeal, but perhaps it was the fact that he couldn’t talk to Alistair about it. He confided in him constantly, about everything, but this was the one thing he couldn’t tell him.

Alistair knew something was wrong, tried to pry it out of Cullen, but instead of confessing, Cullen just got better at pretending he was alright. He hated how he felt, hated that he was lying to the one person he promised to always be truthful with, but the truth was not an option. He couldn’t lose Alistair. He’d sooner die. And he couldn’t let Alistair lose his best friend, replacing him with a disgusting, ungrateful deviant.

So he locked his feelings away, deeper and deeper, till he could almost swear they were not there. Unfortunately, they’d inevitably resurface when Alistair smiled at him, telling him he missed him after they didn’t see each other for a day or when Alistair would bring him his favorite sweets. In such moments Cullen felt the tender affection welling inside of him, and denying it was a painful challenge.

The worst moment he could remember was one hot day the summer past, when they decided to ride out to a tiny lake on the outskirts of Denerim. They swam in nothing but their underwear, and that would’ve been bad enough, but then after dressing, they decided to rest in the shade of a tree, and Cullen found himself with Alistair laying his head on his lap, saying that he needed to take a small nap. 

Cullen sat there, paralyzed, as Alistair dozed peacefully. His red gold hair was drying quickly, and in a moment of madness, Cullen ran his fingers through it, tempted by the apparent softness. Alistair didn’t stir, and Cullen traced the contours of his face with a careful finger. Maker, but he was beautiful. He shouldn’t be touching him, shouldn’t think of him as beautiful, but he couldn’t help himself. His fingers returned to Alistair’s hair, smoothing it gently from his forehead, and running through it again.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Alistair cracking his eyes open and looking up at him. He stilled, afraid of Alistair’s reaction, but all his friend did was smile brightly and tell Cullen that he shouldn’t stop, that it felt nice. Without meaning to, Cullen smiled back, and return to stroking Alistair’s hair. They looked at each other in a way that Cullen could not describe exactly, and for a split second Cullen wanted to forget his fear and shame and just bend down and kiss Alistair’s smiling lips. As soon as the thought appeared, he squashed it. Worried that it might return, he suggested they got back to the city.

That was some months ago, and now Cullen was standing in the ballroom, watching Alistair dance with Lady Cecilia, and felt fierce jealousy. Jealousy he had no right to. He was a bad friend, a bad man, a sick man. He hated himself, and he hated the girl for having every right to be with Alistair, and he hated… No, he didn’t hate Alistair for inspiring those feelings in him. That was all Cullen’s fault.

He wasn’t sure he could handle it. It felt like he was trapped inside his mind, wanting to scratch the unwanted thoughts out of it, to run so far away they wouldn’t catch up to him. He wanted to rage, to scream, to destroy something. And he also wanted to just lay down in a quiet room, to feel nothing at all, because not feeling anything would be better than this.

‘Get a grip,’ he told himself sternly. Acting like this was not proper. He had his duties - he couldn’t indulge his feelings of anger or sadness. He had to accept the situation with dignity, with the grace any knight should possess.

Still he couldn’t remain in the ballroom, even if he should. He should get used to the sight of Alistair with a girl, Alistair happy, happy  _ without him _ . But maybe he could allow himself one night of reprieve. If he was bound to suffer for the rest of his life, then he could maybe suffer a bit less this particular night.

His mind made up, Cullen left his cup, and walked outside. He wasn’t sure if he was going to go to his room or just rest for a while before going back into the ballroom, but he needed to take in a bit of the clear night air, so he made his way to a small courtyard.

There was calm in the darkness. The sounds from the ball were faint. Cullen focused instead on the sound the wind made, rustling through the almost bare branches. He stared up at the autumn sky, the stars sharp in the blackness. He breathed in slowly, clearing his mind, feeling it go blessedly quiet.

He wasn’t sure how long he’s been standing there, feeling that peace, when it was shattered.

“Cullen? Are you alright?”

He knew that voice instantly. Steadying himself, he turned to look at Alistair, a false smile at the ready.

“Perfectly,” he told him.


	2. Chapter 2

Cailan was thoroughly bored. Lady Amalia was nowhere in sight, and at this point he didn’t care for anyone else’s company. He lazily surveyed the room, his eyes sliding over the familiar faces of the lords and ladies who permanently resided at court, noting the new arrivals, and finally taking a tally of who was dancing with who. He was mildly surprised to see Alistair dancing. His brother was not one who enjoyed that particular pastime, but he was taking a turn over the floor with Lady Cecilia, smiling at her and laughing. Another surprise.

Where could Cullen be then?, Cailan wondered. He and Alistair were inseparable, so he had to be near. After a moment of searching, Cailan found him, by the doors, a cup tightly clasped in his hand. He was… The best way to describe it would be to say he was sulking. His brows were drawn, his mouth twisted, and his posture more rigid than usually. Poor idiot. Cailan rolled his eyes, and watched Cullen take a long dramatic pull from his drink. The whole situation stopped being amusing some months ago, and now it was rather annoying.

Without thinking much, Cailan made his way to the balcony where his father was resting. Someone had to listen to Cailan complain.

“I can’t stand it anymore, father,” Cailan announced, leaning over the banister, next to the king.

“What is it this time, Cailan?”

“Alistair and Cullen and their  _ feelings _ .”

“Cailan Theirin!” Maric raised his voice. “I did not raise you to be a bigot!”

“It’s not that.” Cailan waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t care that they’re both men. It’s just so stupid, the way they’re acting. All those longing stares, pretend-innocent touches and general pining is getting on my nerves. Can’t they just get on with it? Confess their feelings and stop acting out some idiotic Antivan play about doomed lovers?”

“Oh.” Maric smiled. “You had me worried there for a moment, son. I’d hate for you to treat your brother and Cullen, or anyone else, poorly because of who they love.”

“Don’t worry father. I don’t give a fig about who's sleeping with who, as long as they’re doing that instead of acting melodramatic.”

Maric shook his head. What was his problem?, Cailan wondered.

“They’re confused, Cailan. This kind of love isn’t easy. Also, Alistair and Cullen are very different from you - they’re more cautious, more controlled, more scared. Try to see it from their perspective.”

“What’s there to see? They’re in love with each other and should act on that.”

“It’s not so obvious to them. I know I’ve noticed it, but I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up on it.”

“I very much did. I know them and I know people in love. I’m surprised everyone in the castle isn’t gossiping about it.”

That was a true mystery to Cailan. It seemed such an obvious thing. He had no doubt as to why those two were always so close.

“Well, some people can’t even conceive of two people of the same gender having those kinds of feelings for each other, and they see their love as brotherly,” Maric explained.

“Brotherly?” Cailan made a face. “I have brotherly feelings for Alistair, and what Cullen has is so very different from that…”

“Of course.” Maric laughed. “I’m glad you’re not making it difficult for them.”

“Don’t think I didn’t consider mocking them,” Cailan admitted. “But they’re just so pathetic, it would not be fair. I don’t kick those who are down. And I wanted to see when they’ll figure it out, but I’m getting impatient.”

“Give them time Cailan. They have to figure it out for themselves.”

“But what if they don’t? Don’t you want them to stop this nonsense?”

“I want them to be happy, and I believe the best way for them to achieve that is to come to an understanding on their own.”

“But daaaad…” Cailan whined.

“Cailan, I swear to the Maker, if you tell your brother that he’s in love with Cullen, I’m going to make your life a nightmare,” Maric threatened.

Cailan opened his mouth, but his father cut him off.

“And the same happens if you tell Cullen that he’s in love with Alistair. I will send Lady Amalia away.”

Cailan gaped at his father.

“Yes, Cailan. I know about you and her. Did you think you could keep that from me?” Maric quirked a brow at him skeptically.

“I was hoping,” Cailan muttered.

“Do we have an understanding then?”

“Yes, father.”

Maric tilted his head, seeming to look Cailan over very carefully.

“Why do I feel like you’re still planning something?”

Maybe because Cailan  _ was  _ planning something? But he couldn’t very well say that.

“I have no idea, father. I’m perfectly innocent and obedient.”

“You haven’t been either of those things since you learned to speak.” Maric sighed. “But I can’t stop you if you do decide to act. Just know the consequences.”

“I’ll be going now, father.”

Cailan made for the stairs, his mind spinning. He had no desire to lose Lady Amalia. Their affair would have to end some time, since she was a married woman, but he wanted to delay that for as long as possible. Still, he had to do  _ something  _ about his brother and Cullen _. _

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the talk with his father. Did he think his father would be shocked by the revelation? No, not really. Did he think his father would encourage him to do something about the Alistair-Cullen situation? Or that he could be persuaded to act himself? Perhaps.

Since that didn’t happen, Cailan would have to be more creative. But first he’d have to find Lady Amalia. Her husband was away, and every moment of that freedom counted.

He pushed his way through the crowd, and went outside, heading for a small courtyard, close to the part of the castle where Lady Amalia had her rooms. 

Just as he was rounding the corner, he heard none other than his brother and Cullen talking in urgent voice. Cailan flattened himself against the wall, hiding in the shadow. This he needed to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of an interlude than an actual chapter - that will come on Sunday. I just really liked the idea of Cailan as a bit self centered but ultimately goodhearted older brother, and Maric as a supportive dad. It may be sappy or whatever, but I wanted Alistair to have a better childhood.


	3. Chapter 3

Cecilia allowed Alistair to spin her, and laughed as he pulled her back to him, which made Alistair laugh in turn. It was so easy with her, so uncomplicated. Being in her presence was relaxing. Even the unpleasant task of dancing became enjoyable.

She was a dear friend and a kind soul, but it was not just that. With her, there was no tension, which was present during all his interactions with other women. He was the bastard prince, but a prince nonetheless, beloved by his father, and all the young women who could not hope to wed Cailan, turned to him as the second best Theirin. The constant flirting was making Alistair uncomfortable.

Maybe under different circumstances he could enjoy all the attention, but as it stood, with his heart already claimed, it was all just a nuisance, a constant reminder of what was expected of him, all that he didn’t want.

Cecilia was giving him a respite from all of that. She had no desire to marry him, and Alistair was eternally grateful for that. She understood him like no-one else did. Alistair felt guilty for thinking that. She was not his best friend - Cullen was, but there was something he could not share with him.

Alistair knew Cecilia since before Cullen came to live with him. He couldn’t see her often, but they became fast friends at the age when boys and girls were supposed to dislike each other, and remained close as the years rolled by.

It was actually Cecilia who made Alistair understand himself, understand the feelings he had. It was a slow, gradual thing, but she was the catalyst for it.

He remembered vividly the day Cecilia told him about the time she caught one of her father’s vassal knights and a merchant’s son kissing in the woods.

“It’s so strange,” she said then. “Men kissing other men. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Very strange,” Alistair admitted. That was the correct answer, he supposed. He’d heard of such things before, derisive jokes at the expense of those deviant men who didn’t care for women’s company.

“Just imagine kissing another boy. Veeery strange,” Cecilia continued.

Alistair just nodded, but for a second his mind did conjure up an image of him kissing a boy, and it did seem strange, but also a bit exciting, yet mostly shocking, because he didn’t imagine just any boy. It was Cullen he pictured.

“I’ve heard that women do it too,” Cecilia went on. “Women kissing other women. And not just on the cheek. Very very strange. I can’t imagine kissing another girl. Not at all.”

Alistair was only half paying attention to her then, too focused on the bizarre behaviour of his mind. He rationalized that it was like with imagining blue nugs. If someone told you not to think of blue nugs, you immediately thought of blue nugs. And so when Cecilia told him about how weird him kissing a boy would be, his mind went right to that.

But why did he picture Cullen? Perhaps it was just that he spent so much time with him. They were together most of their waking moments, and when they weren’t, Alistair would think of Cullen, wanting to show him something funny he saw or tell him about what he did.

That had to be it, Alistair decided. He almost wanted to tell Cullen all about this strange conversation, to see what he’d think, but something stopped him.

It was the first secret he ever hid from Cullen, the first thing he decided not to share with him. He felt a bit bad about it, but he kept telling himself that it was so insignificant that it didn’t warrant mentioning. Only it didn’t seem so insignificant as he kept coming back to that exchange, and that image, sometimes glancing at Cullen, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.

It just so happened that soon after that exchange with Cecilia, he began hearing whispered tales of the things that two men could do with each other. It was scandalising, depraved,  _ Orlesian _ . Or so he’s been told. It was different, unusual, that was certain, but why exactly would it be wrong? 

Over the years, he’s learned not to readily believe everything that he heard. People distrusted everything that deviated from their own experiences, criticised what they did not understand, and tried to build themselves up by bringing others down. That was what his father taught him.

Alistair’s parentage was what set him apart, what made him the object of some people’s disdain, but in truth he did not feel inferior. He knew his worth, he knew his father loved him, and even if at times a biting word would hurt him, he’d always remind himself to disregard the words of people who in truth were jealous of his position.

So if people could be wrong about him, then they could as well be wrong about a million other things, among them relationships between men.

Still, even if in general those kinds of feelings were acceptable, Alistair told himself that he didn’t feel them for Cullen. He loved him like a brother.

It was another visit from Cecilia that threw all that reasoning into disarray. 

They were sitting together in the stables, where Alistair sought refuge when he didn’t want to attend his lessons. He couldn’t remember what exactly he was saying, but Cecilia’s words stuck with him.

“All you talk about is Cullen. Are you in love with him or something?” she asked.

Alistair felt a blush spreading over his cheeks.

“What?! Of course not!” he protested vehemently. “You speak about this Filippa girl non-stop. Are  _ you _ in love with  _ her _ ?”

It was true that Cecilia talked about her friend Filippa a lot, but Alistair didn’t think much of it. He just shot back with the first thing that came into his mind. He didn’t expect his friend to burst into tears.

“Cecilia?” he questioned in a low voice. “Cecilia, are you alright?”

The girl just shook her head, sobbing harder.

“I’m sorry, Cecilia. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry about what I said…”

He started patting her shoulder awkwardly, and in that moment she just threw herself into his arms. Alistair embraced her tentatively, rubbing her back gently.

“It’s going to be all right,” he kept repeating. “We’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“No, we won’t,” Cecilia responded bitterly, pulling away from him, and wiping the remnants of her tears away with the sleeve of her dress. “I  _ am _ in love with Filippa,” she added, staring at Alistair defiantly, chin raised, as if she expected him to say something to contradict that.

“All right then. Does she love you?” he asked.

Cecilia looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re not going to make fun of me for it?”

“Why would I do that?”

It was a bit surprising to hear Cecilia confess something like that, but Alistair saw no reason why her love would be something worthy of mockery.

“My cousin… I told her, and she thought it was a joke at first, and then she said it was not possible and I was being silly. But I know what I feel. I love her, and she doesn’t love me, and I’m never going to be happy.”

Cecilia started sniffling, and then clenched her jaw, as if trying to stop herself from crying again.

“I’m sorry,” was all Alistair managed to say. He didn’t know what to tell her to make it better, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Thank you. For understanding.”

“Of course.”

They sat in silence for a while. Alistair racked his brain, trying to think of something to do for his friend, but was coming up empty.

“Are you sure she doesn’t feel anything for you?” he asked at last.

“Very sure. All she talks about is Ser Barton’s squire. She could never see me like this.” Cecilia sighed heavily.

“Well, then she’s stupid,” Alistair declared. “You’re amazing - pretty and smart and funny.”

“Don’t go falling in love with me yourself.” Cecilia chuckled.

“Ewww, no. You’re like the sister I never had,” Alistair told her, scrunching his nose. He could never imagine himself seeing Cecilia in a romantic light.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want to break your heart.”

She was making jokes, which Alistair took as a good sign.

“You know, you’ll find someone who’ll love you,” he offered.

“Well, I don’t want someone, I want Filippa,” Cecilia answered stubbornly.

Alistair didn’t know what to say to that.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll just be sad for the rest of my life, and become a great poet. I’ve heard you have to be very sad to write great poems, so something will come of all my despair.”

“You know you have no talent for writing.”

“Oh hush. Don’t take that away from me.” Cecilia smacked him lightly on the arm. “Now take me to the kitchen. Some wine and cake is required after my heart-wrenching confession.”

Alistair obliged her. Normally he would stuff his face with sweets, but this day he couldn’t force himself to eat much. He was truly sad for his friend, but there was another reason. When Cecilia suggested he was in love with Cullen, the question hit too close to home. 

He kept telling himself that his affection was purely brotherly, but if it were so, he wouldn’t have to repeat that so often, now would he? He never reminded himself that Cailan was his brother. Of course Cailan was his brother by blood, which made the situation straightforward. But neither did Alistair have to remind himself that Cecilia was like a sister to him. They were not related, and yet he always viewed her like a sibling.

Alistair felt like telling Cecilia about it, asking how she knew that she loved her Filippa, but at the same time he saw she already had a lot on her plate. He shouldn’t burden her further with his problems. And maybe it was better not to know? This would complicate his life so much, and Alistair liked things simple.

For the time being, he pushed those questions away, and focused on providing his friend with much needed distractions, trying to take her mind away from her unfortunate love life.

When Cecilia’s visit came to an end and she returned home, Alistair couldn’t avoid his unwanted thoughts. He was alone with Cullen again, and found himself staring at his friend inquisitively when he was busy doing something else.

“Am I in love with you?” he wanted to ask.

It would sound so absurd if he were to say it out loud, but the question felt like it was trying to push its way out of his mouth.

Cullen would sit hunched over a piece of parchment, books open all around him, attempting to make some calculations, squinting at the numbers, running a hand through his curls in frustration, and Alistair would find it impossibly endearing. 

_ Am I in love with you? _

Cullen would spar with one of those stuck up boys who always looked down their nose at him, and he would keep calm as he exploited every opening they gave him, before knocking them down to the ground, and smirking triumphantly, and Alistair would feel a fierce pride, and admiration for his strength.

_ Am I in love with you? _

Cullen would barge into his room, late at night, when Alistair was already asleep, dragging him out of bed, and leading him to the highest point on the battlements, because a night with stars so bright happened only once in ten years. He would point at the sky, painting shapes with his fingers, talking animatedly, and Alistair couldn’t care much about what the stars were called, but it made him happy to see Cullen excited, and to know that Cullen needed to share this beauty with him.

_ Am I in love with you? _

He loved Cullen, that was certain. It wasn’t something he’s ever said, but he was sure Cullen knew. And he felt that Cullen loved him too. It was an unspoken thing, but their bond seemed unbreakable.

It was odd to think that all those years ago, when they first met, it felt perfectly ordinary. Alistair didn’t suspect his life was going to change. He was just so very bored of listening to Cailan retching, and he chose to go to the woods, where he met a boy. He didn’t guess this boy was going to become his best friend, his constant companion, the one person he could not imagine his life without. 

All those years ago, Cullen became vital to him over a shockingly short amount of time, and Alistair did everything in his power for them not to be separated, which entailed pleading with his father, then crying, then threatening to never speak to him again, and crying some more, before the king relented.

Perhaps he should feel ashamed of the tantrum he threw then, but he couldn’t regret it one bit. He would do that and much worse to keep Cullen with him. Maybe he would’ve recovered, had he not succeeded back then, and returned to Denerim without Cullen, but now, after over ten years of having him by his side, he’d sooner die than let him go. It sounded overdramatic, to be sure, but Cullen was so intertwined in his life, that without him nothing would feel right.

In moments of sadness Cullen was the one person who could make him feel better. In moments of joy Cullen was the one person he wanted to share it with. Cullen gave his life balance. He was stable, strong, constant. That was what most people saw. A serious young man, focused on his studies, but Alistair knew a different side of him. 

Cullen was fun, when he allowed himself to be. He loved racing horses, swimming in the ocean and creeping over the palace at night, discovering all its hidden passages. He also had a sense of humor. He wasn’t constantly joking, like Alistair, but he had his moments. Their banter was always natural, as they teased one another good naturally, one playing off the other.

Alistair was glad he was the one allowed to see this side of Cullen, to know him completely. He was proud he could be his friend, and proud that that friendship allowed Cullen to fulfill his dreams, to reach his full potential - living in Denerim, studying, and learning the intricacies of swordplay. King Maric was impressed with him, and Alistair knew he wished he could knight him as soon as possible, but he also couldn’t be perceived as playing favorites. Cullen would have to prove himself somehow. That didn’t worry Alistair. He was certain his friend would get his chance and show everyone what Alistair and his father already knew - that he exemplified all the virtues any knight should possess.

So this was love - enjoying the other person’s company, feeling pride at their achievements and sorrow at their loses, wishing to remove all obstacles from their path, taking on their troubles, being ready to sacrifice anything for them. It could just remain like this, a platonic feeling, but it could also blossom into something different, romantic. Where was the line between the two? How could one know he’s crossed it?

At one point Alistair was afraid of the answer, but as weeks went by, the mystery of his feelings was beginning to frustrate him. For better or for worse, he needed to know if what he felt for Cullen was brotherly or… not.

But who to ask? His brother has had many conquests, but Alistair didn’t think he knew anything about real love. His father would immediately interrogate him on who was causing him to wonder such things. The other boys would start spreading rumors, no doubt. Cecilia was the only person he could rely upon.

That was the hardest letter he ever had to write. He remembered sitting in the library, his quill hovering over a blank page as words eluded him. He wasn’t sure if he should be vague or bare his heart to her.

His mind was made up as he saw Cullen entering the library, waving to him enthusiastically, before starting to gather books. All the tenderness and confusion burst forth from Alistair, and the quill started flying over the parchment as he explained the whole situation to his friend. He didn’t use Cullen’s name, mindful of the scandal that would cause if the letter were to fall into the wrong hands, but even with that precaution, he knew that Cecilia would know who he meant.

The wait for her return letter was excruciating, yet when it did arrive, Alistair stared at it for a time, afraid to open it. What would he learn about himself after reading it? Was he ready for both outcomes?

He was a Theirin, he had to be fearless, so he ripped the seal off and begun reading. What surprised him at first, was the fact that Cecilia was not shocked by his question. He thought she was joking when she asked him if he was in love with his best friend, but as it turned out, she had her suspicions, which his vehement denial only strengthened. If that was what she thought, then it was another point in favor of him having non-platonic feelings for Cullen.

After that introduction, Alistair found a checklist Cecilia prepared for him. Some items on it were rather obvious. “Do you feel like you’re existence has been validated when you make that person laugh?” Check. “Is their laugh the best sound you’ve ever heard?” Check. “Do you want to be a better person for them?” Check. “When you’re apart do you think of them constantly?” Check.

But those could mean anything. Alistair didn’t think they were conclusive.

Then there were the weird ones. “Does your heart do the thing when they say your name?” Alistair was stumped as to what this could mean, until later in the evening Cullen called out to him, his name rolling off his tongue, and Alistair’s heart definitely did something, something like a twist and a jump and a stutter. How did he not notice it before? Was it just so constant that it stopped being something he took conscious notice of?

“Do you find their imperfections attractive?” That was odd. Imperfections? Cullen seemed pretty damn perfect. Which in itself was probably telling. But come to think of it, Alistair knew Cullen hated his curly hair, and received quite a bit of teasing because of it, while Alistair thought it suited him. One time Cullen tried styling his hair with some kind of pomade to get it to lay flat on his head. Alistair was appalled when he saw it, and told him as much, explaining that he liked it when Cullen looked natural, not trying to change himself. And that was the end of the pomade.

There were also the obvious, but still effective questions. “Do you enjoy that person’s physical closeness?” There was no doubt about that. Alistair liked having Cullen by his side, sitting so close he could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, laying his head on his shoulder when he was tired, draping himself over Cullen as they stumbled a bit in the dark after having a few too many drinks.

“Would you like to kiss that person?” Ever since that day when Cecilia planted the idea in his mind, Alistair wondered what it would feel like. But now he came to realize that it was not just idle curiosity. It was a desire, strong and true, directed specifically at Cullen and no one else.

But the question that hit Alistair the hardest was “Does the idea of them with another person make you angry and sad?” He tried imagining Cullen in love with someone, Cullen telling him about a girl he cared for, Cullen getting married. He hated the idea, fiercely. He wouldn’t be the most important person in Cullen’s life. Alistair couldn’t stand the thought of being pushed aside, replaced. Cullen was and would remain the one he cared for most, and that feeling not being reciprocated with equal force left him feeling hollow.

That was his answer, he supposed. He was in love with Cullen. He expected an internal panic at the realization, but he felt oddly calm. He could stop struggling with himself and just accept the facts. But what were the facts exactly? He was in love with his best friend, and had no idea what to do with it, since he didn’t know what Cullen felt.

Could Cullen feel the same? Was it possible? How common was it for men to be capable of loving other men in such a way?

He expected Cecilia wouldn’t have answers to those questions, and he was proven right as he turned to the last page of her letter. “I’m fairly sure you answered ‘yes’ to all my questions, so congratulations - you’re in love. Or maybe I should say, I’m sorry - you’re in love. From my experience is not particularly enjoyable. But I hope you will have more luck than I. Don’t let my pessimism get you down. It’s just hard, for people such as we are. I can’t give you an advice as to finding out if your feelings are returned - I haven’t had the chance to be in such a fortunate situation. All I will say is - don’t despair. And whatever happens, you have a friend in me. We can write sad poems and drink wine together.”

Alistair smiled sadly. He had even less literary talent than Cecilia, but that was not his biggest worry. Her sadness was palpable, and he wished he could change it, make Filippa love her, but even princes weren’t capable of that. And where did that leave him? He didn’t want to bring himself down, but he felt his chances were slim.

Still, now as he watched Cullen, he asked himself a different question than before. “Could you be in love with me?” he wondered.

It was not entirely impossible, he reassured himself. Their bond was so strong, at times it was as if they felt the same things, so maybe they could feel this thing together? 

Cullen would sit by his side when Alistair was sick, keeping him company and trying to entertain him, as Alistair wheezed, coughed, and complained. Even after a week of this Cullen didn’t seem annoyed, only attentive and concerned.

_ Could you be in love with me? _

Cullen would give Alistair his jacket when they took a trip to the coast, and the weather turned bad. Alistair was unprepared for such an eventuality, but the ever practical Cullen was, and sacrificed his comfort for his friend, persisting when Alistair tried to refuse the offer.

_ Could you be in love with me? _

Cullen would wipe tears from the corners of his eyes after laughing heartily at a joke Alistair made. He’d look at Alistair for a long moment, smiling oddly, and say “I’ll never get tired of you, you ridiculous man.”

_ Could you be in love with me? _

Nothing was conclusive, and Alistair remained torn between hope and fear. There was a time when he worried that Cullen caught on to his feelings. He acted strangely around him - distant and skittish. Alistair’s heart felt like it was about to freeze when Cullen would sit away from him, instead of plopping right next to him on a bench or when he’d avert his gaze when Alistair took of his shirt in the sweltering heat of summer.

Alistair asked Cullen over and over again if something was wrong, but kept being rebuffed, which only cause him more worry. He tried acting perfectly ordinary, even if he felt like vomiting in fear. In those moments he’d pray that it was anything else bothering Cullen. He couldn’t stand the thought of his friend finding out and being repulsed. 

As time went by, Cullen begun to return to his normal behavior. Alistair wasn’t sure what caused him to act strangely before or what caused the reverse. Maybe it had nothing to do with him? Maybe he was worried about that only because his secret was eating away at him, and he expected Cullen to figure it out?

In the end, he just enjoyed the fact that things were as they should be. He was back to square one, as far as figuring out Cullen’s feelings was concerned, but it was still better than being convinced that his intentions were understood and rejected.

He was getting rather sick of this own uncertainty, and so he was doubly glad when Cecilia wrote to him saying that she was going to come for the celebration marking the end of the harvest, and that she was bringing some good news with her. It was rather cryptic, and Alistair impatiently awaited her arrival so that he could find out what she meant. The anticipation was at least distracting him from his own day to day musings.

When he finally saw her riding into the courtyard, Cecilia was grinning from ear to ear. As soon as she dismounted, she was dragging him away so that they could talk. As it turned out, she was in love. Happily. Her eyes practically shone as she spoke of the girl who claimed her heart. Cecilia’s father employed an Antivan dance instructor for her younger sisters, which supposedly was the new fashion, and the instructor came with a daughter, named Adelaide, who was Cecilia’s age. 

Cecilia swore the breath was knocked out of her when she saw the Antivan beauty. The girl took a liking to her as well. Cecilia was afraid it was again going to be a one-sided feeling, but despite fearing new heartbreak, she spend more and more time with Adelaide. She showed her the town and surrounding mountains, shared her books with her, and tried to make her feel at home. Adelaide started teaching Cecilia Antivan, and they often bickered over whose accent was cuter when speaking the other’s language. 

Soon they were inseparable. Cecilia wasn’t sure if it was an Antivan thing, but Adeliade would often hold her hand, and spontaneously hug her. She enjoyed the closeness, and it was getting her hopes up.

Sometimes they would get so caught up in talking late into the night, that they’d just fall asleep in the same bed, waking up in a tangle of limbs. Most days they just laughed about it, but one morning Adelaide said nothing, just staring at Cecilia. She tucked a lock of hair behind Cecilia’s ear and moved closer to her. ‘Tell me to stop,’ she whispered, but Cecilia had no intention of doing so. Her breathing was shallow as Adelaide moved torturously slowly to her, before at last kissing her.

At this point in the story Cecilia blushed fiercely, and said that ‘things happened’. Alistair had a vague notion of what could’ve happened and just smiled at his friend, encouraging her to tell him what happen after that.

Cecilia went on to say that she and Adelaide confessed their feelings for each other, after all the things that happened, happened, and now she was the happiest girl in Ferelden. Of course Adelaide stayed behind, as Cecilia traveled to Denerim, and she missed her already, but she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see Alistair and tell him the good news in person.

Watching Cecilia smiling and talking of her love as if she were the most amazing creature in Thedas, was truly heartwarming. Cecilia deserved to be happy. The change in her was incredible. He remembered her sorrow when she spoke of Filippa, and now all that was behind her.

It was easy to get swept up in Cecilia’s joy and enthusiasm, to be a bit more hopeful with her by his side. She was so full of energy, it was hard to keep her in one place, and when the time for the evening’s entertainment came, she demanded Alistair dance with her. No matter how much he disliked it, he couldn’t refuse her, and they ended up gliding over the floor, Cecilia constantly joking, making Alistair laugh.

He was a bit out of breath when the dance ended. He needed some rest, but more importantly, he needed to find Cullen. Cullen didn’t particularly care for such affairs, and Alistair couldn’t let him suffer alone.

Cecilia was occupied, talking with some ladies, so Alistair strolled through the hall, looking for his friend, who was nowhere to be found.

Alistair ended up asking the guards by the doors if they haven’t seen him, and finding out Cullen already left. Was he tired? Or just bored? Alistair needed to check up on him.

He passed through one courtyard, then the next, and saw Cullen, standing still, looking up at the sky.

“Cullen, are you alright?” he called out to him.

Cullen visibly tensed at his words, and turned to face him.

“Perfectly,” he answered, but there was something insincere in his voice, something uneasy in his smile.

“Come now, tell me the truth, I can see something’s bothering you,” Alistair insisted.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” Cullen responded quickly, but Alistair wasn’t falling for it. He felt something was definitely wrong.

“I’m sorry I left you alone. I know you don’t like those kinds of celebrations. I just had to dance with Cecilia, and I was going to join you.”

Maybe that was it? Cullen feeling lonely but trying not to bother Alistair with it.

“Don’t mind me - Lady Cecilia probably misses you in there,” Cullen said in an oddly flat voice.

“Cecilia is busy. She’ll survive without me. I’m more concerned with you now.”

“I don’t want to keep you from her,” Cullen responded, still emotionless. 

What was the matter with him? Alistair couldn’t figure it out.

“If you want to be alone, then just say so. I won’t bother you, but don’t pretend that you’re doing this for my benefit.” It came out harsher than Alistair intended, but he didn’t rightly know what to say.

“I don’t… Never mind. You looked like you were greatly enjoying Lady Cecilia’s company. I don’t want to interfere.”

“What are you on about? Yes, I like Cecilia and we have fun, but what’s that got to do with this situation?”

Cullen’s behavior was truly perplexing.

“Nothing. One has nothing to do with the other, especially since there’s nothing bothering me,” Cullen continued stubbornly.

Alistair was about to say something, when there was a laugh from behind them. He and Cullen both turned to stare in the direction from which the sound came.

Non other than Cailan stepped towards them, a very stupid smirk on his face.

“Someone’s jealous, that’s what’s happening here,” he said.

“I’m not jealous!” Cullen protested.

Cailan rolled his eyes.

“Why would Cullen be jealous?” Alistair asked, even if, as the words were leaving his mouth, he started wondering if Cailan wasn’t right. Maybe Cullen felt threatened by his friendship with Cecilia? It was absurd, but he did express similar sentiments at one time, fearing the loss of Alistair’s friendship, and maybe now that worry resurfaced.

“You’re both so dense. I can’t believe it.” Cailan sighed.

“We are not! You’re dense,” Alistair retorted. Leave it to his brother to muck everything up with his stupid comments. He didn’t need this right now.

“Damn it, Alistair, I can’t believe you. You’re so oblivious! Open your eyes!”

“My eyes are open and I can see you being an idiot!”

“I swear to the Maker, I’m trying to help you, at great personal risk, I might add, and you’re being a dunse!”

That was rich, coming from Cailan.

“You’re not trying to help! You’re just interrupting me!”

“You need to be interrupted! You were going nowhere fast.”

“You make no sense!”

“One day you’ll thank me.”

“For what?! Being a nosy idiot?”

“For… Andraste’s flaming knickers! He’s gone!” Cailan exclaimed.

“What?!” 

Alistair looked around, and sure enough, Cullen was gone.

“Thank you ever so much for scaring away my friend with your stupid interruptions!” he shouted at his brother.

“Just… Go after him. Get this thing sorted out. Tell him how you…”

Alistair wasn’t sure what Cailan said. He was already running in the direction of Cullen’s room. He was going to pray the truth out of him, and then he was going to go kill Cailan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first Lady Cecilia was supposed to be just a plot device, someone for Cullen to be jealous of, but as I wrote, she became something more. She became important to me, and I needed to write a happy ending with a cute girlfriend for her.


	4. Chapter 4

Damn Cailan. Damn his stupid loud mouth. Cullen hated him deeply, as he ran through the palace to his room.

Did he know about Cullen’s feelings for Alistair? Did he wish to embarrass him? Drive a wedge between them? Banish Cullen from Denerim in disgrace? He’d never think the price was so cruel. They didn’t interact much, but Cullen believed them to be on good terms. They had no reason for quarrels, but apparently he misjudged that.

What was he telling Alistair just now? Cullen didn’t want to imagine that. He burst into his room, and shut the doors, as if he could stop every bad thing that was going to happen from entering.

He slid down to the floor, and hid his face in his hands. Was he ruined already? Or was he living on borrowed time, waiting for Cailan’s insinuations to become clear to Alistair?

He would not be thrown out of the palace, he was fairly sure of that. Even if he wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore, Alistair wouldn’t try to cast him out because of the simple crime of Cullen loving him. But would remaining be worth anything if he lost his best friend?

Cullen’s eyes were starting to fill with tears. He took a tremulous breath, and froze, as he heard, and felt, a pounding on the doors.

“Cullen!” Alistair called out to him, banging his fists on the wood. “Let me in, Cullen. We need to talk.”

Cullen wanted to pretend he wasn’t there, so he remained quiet.

“I can hear you breathing!” Alistair announced.

“I…” Cullen didn’t know what to say. Alistair didn’t sound angry with him. Maybe he should let him in, make up an excuse for his bizarre behavior and just hope it was all going to blow over?

“I’m not leaving this place until we talk. I have plenty of time. I can stand here all night and talk to you through that door. Or I can sing. There’s this new song I’ve heard in the tavern…”

Cullen laughed despite himself. Alistair had a great voice, and yet he couldn’t hold a tune to save his life.

“You won’t have to torture me,” Cullen told him, getting up, and wiping his eyes. “Come in.” He opened the doors, and stepped aside, allowing Alistair to enter.

Alistair looked Cullen over carefully, as if trying to read something in his face.

“I’m sorry about my brother barging in and being an idiot,” he started tentatively.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not, but I shouldn’t have gotten distracted arguing with him. Then again, you didn’t have to run.”

Cullen felt his cheeks heating up. That was a cowardly thing to do. He was not one to run from things, and here it was particularly absurd, since he couldn’t run far.

“I’m just tired, I’m sorry,” he started lying. “I haven’t slept well, the music was loud, and I think there was something in the mead…”

Alistair pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side.

“Tell me the truth,” he demanded.

Cullen couldn’t go on insisting he was truthful. The first lie took too much effort. 

Alistair sighed lightly, and put his hand on Cullen’s shoulder, guiding him to sit on the bed. Cullen obeyed silently, not able to resist.

“I think…” Alistair seemed to hesitate. “I think my brother is an idiot, but he’s not wrong. You’re jealous of Cecilia.”

Cullen’s heart started beating wildly in his chest. He couldn’t open his mouth to deny the allegation.

“You shouldn’t be,” Alistair continued. “You are my best friend and nothing will ever change that.”

“But she’s more than a friend, isn’t she?”

Why couldn’t he leave it well enough alone? Alistair thought he was jealous of his friendship, which would give Cullen a perfect out of the situation. He should’ve admitted to that, and not dug his own grave.

Alistair looked confused for a moment, and then began laughing heartily.

“You think…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “You think…” He laughed even harder, making Cullen confused in turn. “Do you truly believe I could be in love with Cecilia?” he managed to ask.

“Yes?” Cullen felt foolish saying that, after witnessing Alistair's outburst.

“You are so very wrong. I’m not in love with her, and she’s very much not in love with me. She’s…”

Cullen waited for him to finish.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know you won’t spread this around. She prefers the company of women. And she’s in love with a girl she left back home,” Alistair explained in a hushed voice.

Cullen knew his eyes had to be as wide as saucers, as Alistair’s words sunk in.

“A girl?” he asked, uncertain.

“Yes. They’re very happy together. That’s all she talks about.”

Alistair was smiling, and Cullen felt easier. He should’ve expected that Alistair was tolerant of people like that, but to hear it was still a relief.

“You’re feeling silly now, aren’t you?” Alistair teased. “Don’t worry. No-one will ever replace you.”

Alistair placed his palm over Cullen’s hand, and the touch felt impossibly intimate.

“One day someone will,” Cullen protested, angry at himself that he pushed on. Did he wish to be discovered? “You will marry…”

“I won’t,” Alistair insisted. “I don’t want to marry, so nothing will ever change between us. Not unless you’ll want it to.”

His hand was still on Cullen’s, and this combined with his words, made Cullen hope madly for one fleeting moment.

“What do you mean?” he asked. It was too good to be true, too much, but he had to know.

“I… Oh, you know… Change… If you want to change something… Anything… Just let me know.”

Alistair’s hand was gone, and he was getting up.

“Is that all?” Cullen demanded. Alistair awkwardness and uncertainty made this small flicker of hope reignite.

“If you could change something between us,  _ anything _ , would you?” Alistair responded with his own question.

The way he said ‘anything’, emphasising it, as if to give it the broadest definition, was telling. Cullen stared at him with dawning realization. Neither of them said anything, unwilling to take the first step, maybe still scared. Cullen knew he was definitely scared. He never imagined Alistair could feel the same way, and now that it was a near certainty, he didn’t know what to do.

He never thought to this point, never tried to envision what it would be like if Alistair reciprocated his feelings. It would not be easy, oh no. It would be difficult and potentially ruinous for the prince. Would it be worth it? Would he be worth all of Alistair’s sacrifices?

He must’ve been thinking about it for too long, keeping ominously silent, as he often did, too much in his head, because Alistair was turning away.

“Forget I said anything,” he muttered. “Nothing has to change.”

“No! Wait!” Cullen stood up, reached for him, and grabbed his hand, before immediately dropping it. What was he going to say? He didn’t know. He was just sure he couldn’t let Alistair think he was rejecting him. “I… I want you to be happy.” It felt safe. It was the truth. Not all of it, but most. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

He was shocked to see Alistair absolutely crestfallen at his words. 

“I don’t want that,” Alistair enunciated slowly, as if every word was causing him pain. And it cause Cullen equal pain, but also confusion.

“You don’t want to be happy? You don’t want me to…” He couldn’t quite finish.

Alistair laughed, a short, bitter sound, so very unlike his usual, genuine laughter.

“I don’t want you to do things to make me happy. I don’t want you to force yourself into something that would be… unpleasant for you. I’m sorry if you ever thought I’d expect you to… to… I’m sorry I said anything.” 

Alistair shook his head, and again turned to the doors, but this time Cullen took hold of his hand, and didn’t let go. Finally he understood what Alistair meant, and it was absolutely absurd.

“Making you happy would make me happy,” he said. But that was not enough. Alistair still didn’t understand, his eyes avoiding Cullen’s gaze, his hand limp in Cullen’s. “I wouldn’t be forcing myself into anything. I… care for you. Not in the, uh, traditional sense.” Now he was looking anywhere but at Alistair, feeling deeply awkward. “I would like to… I want… Maker’s breath, this is difficult. Can you see what I’m trying to say?”

“Maaaaybe.” Alistair sounded coy, and even without seeing him, Cullen knew he was smiling.

They turned towards each other, and Cullen was greeted by Alistair’s broad grin.

“I said maybe - I can’t be sure. You have to tell me exactly what you mean,” Alistair prompted.

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

“It would make me happy.”

Cullen let out a frustrated sigh.

“I love you.”

“Now was that so hard?”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but felt himself smiling.

“You know this… whatever this is… will be difficult. I’m not sure if it’s really what you want,” Cullen said, needing to make the situation clear, even if the idea of Alistair backing out was making his heart ache. He’d do the right thing by him, no matter what.

“Well, I love you too, so that’s all that matters.” Alistair shrugged.

“But you’re the prince...”

“I love you.”

“Your father will…”

“I love you.”

“People will talk if…”

“I love you.”

“The court…”

“Maker’s breath, I’m supposed to be the talkative one.” Alistair laughed. “I don’t care about anything. Unless you… Oh, I’m daft. You should worry about  _ your _ position. At court.”

It was strange how Cullen didn’t even think about that before. Being discovered would certainly make his knighting difficult, if not impossible. That was his one dream, but as he looked up at Alistair’s dear worried face, he knew that this huge risk was worth it.

“It’s not like we could ever walk through the palace holding hands,” he said. “We’ll just be careful. I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.”

Alistair’s expression changed, back to that smile Cullen always wanted to see.

“You know, if it all comes crashing down on us, we can always join the Grey Wardens, like we wanted to do as kids,” Alistair suggested.

“As long as we’ll be together, I’ll be fine wherever we end up.”

“Even in Orlais?”

“Even in Orlais.”

“We could live in sin and eat cake.” Alistair grinned.

“We can do that here, you know.”

Cullen moved closer to Alistair, staring at him ardently. His best friend loved him, wanted to eat cake and live in sin with him - it was hard to believe that he’s gotten so lucky. Maybe he shouldn’t push that luck further, but he couldn’t stop himself. He took another small step, and stood just a hair's breadth from Alistair.

“I feel like at this point maybe we should kiss or something,” Alistair started. “That is if you…”

That was all the encouragement Cullen needed, as he tilted his head up, breaching the distance between them, pressing his lips to Alistair’s. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but almost instantly Alistair made a small pleased sound, and started kissing him back, and it felt natural, right, like their mouths were just meant to do those things together, and maybe their noses bumped and their teeth clicked, but it was still perfect.

When they parted, breathing harshly and grinning broadly, Cullen wanted to say something, but this time it was Alistair kissing him, and he was happy not to have to talk or think, instead just feeling. And there was a lot to feel - the warmth that was radiating from Alistair, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his fingers as they traveled over Cullen’s neck, the strength of his arm around his back, the way he tasted when he experimentally opened his mouth to let their tongues touch. But it was not just the feeling. It was also the smell of Alistair’s skin, the unrestrained gasping sounds he was making, the edge of desperation as he clung to Cullen, as if unable to let go.

It was all so new, but strangely familiar. It seemed a natural extension of what they’ve been doing for years - something closer, more raw, but still tender. He didn’t want to stop, but he knew that if he did, he’d still be able to resume any time they were alone.

Kissing was nice. No. It was more than that. It was amazing. And yet Cullen’s body was telling him that there could be something even more amazing. His cock was hardening, and all he wanted to do was push closer to Alistair, release that tension in the arms of the one man he’s ever wanted. But it was probably to early for that. He didn’t wish to be crass. For all his talk of living in sin, he wasn’t sure if Alistair was ready for that. And frankly, he wasn’t sure he himself was ready.

When he gently moved away and opened his eyes, which must’ve fallen shut at a moment he could not pinpoint, he saw Alistair with his lips slightly puckered, his eyes firmly closed, and his cheeks covered in the deepest red he’s ever seen on them, which was saying something. He’s never seen Alistair’s freckles from this close, and they stood out particularly strongly against his flush.

“Staring at me, are you?” Alistair asked, cracking one eye open.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you can’t resist all this perfection.” Alistair smirked at him.

“I like your freckles.”

“Come on. You know how I feel about those,” Alistair muttered.

“I think they’re cute,” Cullen offered.

“Cute? Why, Ser, I tell you, I’ve never been insulted in such a manner.”

Cullen laughed.

“Can I somehow make up for that insult?”

“Maaaaaybe.”

With that Cullen swooped in, and they were kissing again, and time seemed nonexistent, until Cullen was painfully reminded that they should stop before things got out of hand.

“Maybe we should get back to the ball? Someone is bound to be looking for you.”

That was the last thing Cullen wished, but it was the sensible thing to do.

“Pshhh. Let them. There’s nothing interesting there. Unlike right here.”

He smiled in a way that made Cullen excited and a tiny bit nervous.

“What would you like to do then?” he asked cautiously.

“More of this, I think. Much more. And you can tell me when you realized that you were dying from the love you felt for your rightful prince.”

Cullen felt the tiny knot of nerves loosen in his stomach, and he laughed.

“It kind of started with a book.”

“Of course it started with a book.” Alistair laughed. “That’s so very  _ you _ .”

“Well, it was a dirty book.”

Alistair’s eyes went wide.

“Would you like to see it?”

Alistair nodded frantically, so Cullen went to his closet and opened a small compartment he discovered at the bottom. It felt like a much better hiding place than under his mattress, where a servant turning his bed could find it. He held the book out to Alistair, who took it, and started flipping through the pages.

“It may be better if you just read the whole thing in your own time. Preferably in your room,” Cullen suggested.

“So it’s a very dirty book, which will scandalize a poor innocent such as myself?”

“You can always give it back…”

Alistair clutched the book to his chest protectively.

“Not a chance. I want to know all the lewd things that you’ve read, that made you think of yours truly.”

In that moment Cullen realized that this may have been a bad idea. He didn’t want to make Alistair think he wanted all of that. Not right away at least.

“You know, this is no… I don’t expect… We don’t have to do anything…”

“Good. That’s good. I mean, I want... you, but this is new and serious and I don’t want to disappoint you…”

Cullen smiled at him, relieved.

“We’re in this together. We both have almost nonexistent experience in this area, but still I know you could never disappoint me. So let’s just take it slow, don’t rush anything.”

“Agreed. So maybe we can get back to all the talking and kissing. That would be fine, wouldn’t it?”

Cullen grabbed his hand, and pulled him closer. It sounded like a perfect plan for the night.

Soon they found themselves laying on Cullen’s bed, side by side, enjoying the unrestrained closeness, talking of all the things they wanted to say before. It felt so ridiculous now - they were so in love, yet for the longest time couldn't see their own feelings reflected in each other. They spoke of all the small moments when they wanted to do something, yet restrained themselves.

“That day by the lake I prayed that you’d kiss me,” Alistair confessed.

Now Cullen wished he would’ve done just that, but he couldn’t turn back the time, so instead he turned over on his side and kissed Alistair.

“Making up for lost time?” Alistair asked after they parted.

“There were so many missed opportunities - I think we have to do something about that,” Cullen decided.

“You wish is my command.”

Cullen laughed.

“You’re the prince -  _ I _ should obey _ your _ commands.”

“I’m not much of a commander, and with you here I don’t feel like a prince - just a very lucky man.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky.”

“Maker, we’re already one of those gross couples who try to out-love one another. Maybe it’s a blessing that we can’t be public with all those  _ feelings _ .”

“I didn’t realize I was being so sentimental. Do you mind terribly?” Cullen asked, a bit embarrassed.

“Being told that I’m loved and appreciated over and over again? What fresh torment is that!”

“Oh, shut up,” Cullen told him, the fond tone of his voice belaying the words.

“Make me,” Alistair challenged.

And so Cullen did exactly that, kissing Alistair until he was sure neither of them had many thoughts left in their heads.

He wasn’t sure how much time has passed. They kept talking, then not talking, and then things got a bit hazy…

Cullen woke up, sometime around dawn, surprised by the warm body pressed against him. In a moment the events of the night came back to him, and he smiled. Alistair had his head on his chest, and an arm and a leg slung over him. He was heavy and very warm, but Cullen had no desire of pushing him away. Maybe he should wake him, tell him to get to his room, but it was not like this was the first time one of them spend the night in the other’s room, either because they talked too much or drank too much. Reassured by that notion, Cullen placed his hand on Alistair’s back and fell asleep.

He was awoken again when Alistair stirred, and he felt something hard poking his hip. What was…? Oh. Momentarily Cullen understood the situation and his breathing got a bit shallow. He felt his own erection stiffening further. He wanted to turn to his side, to press his cock against Alistair’s and see how that would feel, to know how Alistair looked and sounded when he came. He shivered with excitement at the thought. But just last night they talked of not rushing anything, so with regret he slipped from under Alistair’s body and got up.

Sleeping in clothes from the previous night was never comfortable, and Cullen stretched his stiff muscles. He took of his jacket and tunic, and placed them on a chair. He needed to get clean, to distract himself, and allow his unwanted erection to subside. Organizing a bath would take too much time, so he just started washing with a cloth dipped in a bowl of cold water.

“Good morning to me,” came the raspy voice from behind him.

Cullen turned around, feeling himself already blushing. Alistair was stretching his arms above his head, and grinning at him.

“Good morning,” Cullen responded. He shifted from one foot to the other nervously. They’ve both seen each other practically naked many a time before, but this was different, this was not casual. The way Alistair stared at him was heated, and it was both pleasing and embarrassing.

“This is not a dream, right?” Alistair continued. “The night, the things we said, the things we did…”

“Most definitely not. I’m very real.”

“I can’t be sure. Would you mind coming over here so I can check?”

They should get ready for the day, but Culle couldn’t resist that smile Alistair was giving him. He walked over to the bed, and before he knew what was happening, he was being pulled down. He tumbled gracelessly, bracing himself on his forearms. Before he could complain, Alistair was kissing him, and running his warm hands over Cullen’s bare back, and it was indeed a very good morning.

After they managed to part, they had to hurry to try and make it to breakfast on time. Alistair ran to his room to change, while Cullen finished washing up. Despite their best efforts, they were still late, and so instead they made it to the kitchen to grab some leftover rolls and meat. 

It was strange, seeing Alistair out in the open after everything that’s happened between them. Cullen felt paranoid, afraid that everyone around them would know, that even a smile would betray then, but he couldn’t stop himself from returning Alistair’s grin. It was normal, he reasoned. They always grinned like that at each other, and if they stopped, then people would get suspicious.

They were walking through the courtyard when they noticed Lady Cecilia approaching fast.

“You left me completely alone!” she said without preamble, pointing an accusatory finger at Alistair.

“I’m sorry…” Alistair started.

“He was with me,” Cullen responded.

Lady Cecilia tilted her head, studying Cullen, and a small sly smile appeared on her pretty face. When he wasn’t consumed with jealousy, Cullen could at last appreciate the fact that she was indeed a beautiful woman.

“With you, Ser Cullen?” she asked. Some people used that title to mock him, but coming from her, it sounded sincere.

“I’m no Ser, Lady Cecilia,” he corrected nonetheless.

“You’ll be soon enough. But I could call you Cullen, if you’d call me Cecilia.”

Cullen nodded his agreement.

“Getting back to more important things - you two were together, yes? Doing what exactly?” Her smile widened.

“Making up for lost time,” Cullen told her.

Cecilia was beaming.

“I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed. “Alistair was pining for you for so long.”

“I’m not sure pining is the right word…” Alistair protested.

“It most definitely is. He’s so very in love.” She smiled indulgently. “You seem like the decent sort, Cullen,” she went on, her face turning serious, “but if you break his heart, I swear to the Maker, I will make you pay.” Her voice wasn’t angry, just studiously calm, with an edge of steel. Cullen found it oddly endearing.

“Cecilia! This is not…”

“That’s all right,” Cullen interjected. “I have no intention of doing that, but I’m glad to hear that he has you looking out for him. And… thank you for being there for him, for listening and comforting him. He told me all about what you did for him, and I appreciate that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Cecilia was back to smiling, as if she wasn’t threatening him a moment ago. “I truly couldn’t be happier for you.”

“And I hear congratulations are in order for you as well.”

Cecilia’s eyes widened, and Cullen understood his mistake.

“I’m sorry, Cecilia, I just…” Alistair started apologizing.

“No, no, no. This is on me. I’m sorry,” Cullen cut him off.

Cecilia just shrugged.

“If this knowledge helped you somehow, then I’m fine with this breach of confidence. Plus, now I have another person I can regale with the tales of how perfect Adelaide is. That accent alone...” She fanned herself.

“I’d be glad to know more about her,” Cullen told her amiably.

“And it did help. He was jealous of you, Cecilia, so knowing you loved someone else helped.”

“Alistair!” Cullen felt himself reddening. 

“Jealous? Of me?” Cecilia laughed heartily, throwing her head back, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. “That’s sweet of you, Cullen, to think that I could ensnare the prince, but he’s all yours.” She chuckled again. “But you two blush just the same. It’s cute, even if there’s no need to be embarrassed. Now take me for a ride somewhere, so we can talk properly. Pack some wine and sweets and meet me by the gate.”

With that, she was off.

“I think I’m starting to really like her,” Cullen said.

To think that he was ever resentful of her! But if he weren’t, then he wouldn’t have stormed off, and Alistair wouldn’t have followed, and they would’ve remained oblivious to each other's feelings for much longer. In a way she started it all, and he’d be forever grateful for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be smut in this chapter, but it didn't feel right. I had a clear idea in mind for this story - there's a ball, Cullen gets jealous, there's a confrontation/confession of feelings, and smut ensues. And then I started writing, and a backstory happened, and Lady Cecilia happened, and when I got to the part when they confess their feelings, I realized that I couldn't plunge right into smut. They're both at the same age as in Origins and, despite not being raised in the Chantry, I'm sure Alistair wouldn't want to just skip to the steamy bits. So next chapter is the smut chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen used to think that The Book, as he and Alistair dubbed the piece of fiction which hastened his world altering realization about his feelings for his friend, oversold the pleasures of the flesh one could find in the arms of another man, but after he and Alistair decided to stop going slow, he realized that it might have been actually downplaying them.

The knowledge that he was loved, that all his secret feelings were returned, was wonderful, there was no doubt about that, but adding a physical aspect to the mix made for something extraordinary. There was nothing quite like feeling Alistair’s bare skin against his own, hearing him whisper his name, having his restless hands roam over his body.

Perhaps it was awkward at times. They didn’t know exactly how to go about things, having no previous experiences. They allowed their mutual desire to guide them. That and the words from The Book. Cullen remembered vividly the day when Alistair told him he’d read it.

It was the very next day after their first fumbling, but immensely satisfying encounter. As if by an unspoken agreement, Alistair hadn’t read The Book right after Cullen gave it to him, as if not wanting to push the boundary they set together. But after they decided not to keep waiting, he tore into it.

They met over breakfast, just like any other day, and Cullen immediately noticed Alistair’s red-rimmed eyes and his constant yawning. 

“Bad night?” he asked, concerned. “If you couldn’t sleep you should’ve come and see me.”

Alistair laughed through a yawn.

“I’ve read your book,” he said.

“My book?” Cullen scrunched his brows in confusion.

“You know.  _ The Book. _ ”

“You mean the…”

Alistair nodded, and yawned again.

“I didn’t sleep a wink, but I’ve read the whole thing. And now my wrist is tired.”

“That book isn’t even very heavy, why would…” Realization dawned, and Cullen felt his face go scarlet. “Maker, Alistair! There are people around. You shouldn’t have told me that here.”

“My bad.” Alistair grinned, buttering a roll, as if he was having a perfectly normal breakfast conversation.

“You’re not sorry,” Cullen hissed. 

He couldn’t focus on anything but imagining Alistair lying in his bed, book in one hand, his cock in the other, stroking himself, feeling the same excitement Cullen did when he read those words all those months ago.

“You’re not eating anything?” Alistair asked.

“You’re far too pleased with yourself,” Cullen complained, shifting uneasily, willing his half hard cock to behave.

“I’ve had some vague ideas as to what I’d like to do, but this book… this book gave me so much more. It was so explicit… practically like an instruction.”

Cullen shuddered. He was not going to get up from that table for a long time. Now he was thinking of Alistair making his plans, mentally noting what he’d like to do with Cullen,  _ to _ Cullen,  as he read.

“I mean, I don’t think I’m exactly ready for the last three chapters,” Alistair admitted. “I hope that’s not a disappointment to you after I’ve been talking such a big game.”

He looked sheepish and uncertain in that moment, and Cullen just wanted to reach out and touch him to reassure him, but in the dining hall his words would have to suffice.

“I’m not disappointed. That’s very…” He waved his hand, unable to find the right word. “It’s a lot. We can leave it for some later time. Or we don’t have to…”

“Oh no, at some point we have to. That is, I’d like to,” Alistair amended. “I’d like to…” he was blushing fiercely, but he leaned close to Culle over the table, and finished in a rushed whisper “...to feel you inside of me.”

Cullen was glad he wasn’t eating anything because he surely would’ve choked.

“You couldn’t have waited to tell me this in private? I’m three seconds from embarrassing myself in front of all those people.”

His erection was near painful now and his mind was in shambles.

“I’m sorry.” Alistair sounded genuinely apologetic. “I’m not sure what came over me. Let’s blame it on sleep deprivation, shall we?”

“Let’s.” Cullen sighed. “I wouldn’t mind… if we were alone. Then you could talk like this. I’d like you to, in fact.”

“Good, glad to know I’m not scandalising you.” Alistair laughed, relieved. “Now maybe we should eat. Maker, today’s practice will kick me in the behind. And I can’t even skip it - after that time we snuck off together two days ago Master Roan is bound to tattle on me to father.”

“If we get paired together I’ll go easy on you,” Cullen promised.

“I’ll be fine either way. I have something to look forward to after the practice.”

The smile he shot Cullen made him grind his teeth, sure that he was going to be late for practice, since getting up wasn’t going to be an option soon.

In retrospect it was rather amusing that after the practice, when it was time for what Alistair was looking forward to, the prince ended up falling asleep almost as soon as he hit the mattress. One moment he was kissing Cullen back, and the next he was lying pliant and unconscious. At the time Cullen didn’t find it particularly funny, but he knew Alistair needed his sleep, so he took off his shoes, covered him with a blanket, and left him to rest.

It was the same day, late into the evening, when Cullen was preparing for bed, that he heard a knocking on his doors.

“Who is it?” he called out.

“Is there someone else who could be visiting you at such an hour?” Alistair answered from the other side.

Cullen walked up to his doors quickly and let Alistair in.

“I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I don’t know what happened.” Alistair was wringing his hands awkwardly.

“Someone might think I bored you to sleep.” Cullen crossed his arms over his chest.

“No! You know that’s not it!”

“That’s all right.” Cullen told him. He couldn’t torment him further. “I know you were just tired. So did you come here to apologize or…”

“I came here to make it up to you.”

Alistair moved up to Cullen, bridging the scant distance between them, and kissed him. Cullen liked that plan a lot. He wrapped his arms around Alistair, getting lost in the taste of his lips. He made a disgruntled sound when Alistair pulled away, but soon fell silent, watching as Alistair discarded his shirt, remaining gloriously bare. Staring was not polite, he knew, but how could he not stare when the man he loved was standing before him, his chest naked, on display just for him. He had to look his fill, at last granted that privilege after years of furtive glance.

“Are you going to take your shirt off or am I going to be the only one exposed like this?” There was a faint note of nerves in Alistair’s voice, which struck Cullen as odd. He had to know how he looked - broad chested and well muscled, strong and tempting.

“Fair is fair, I suppose,” Cullen finally said, throwing his own shirt to the ground.

And then it was Alistair staring at him, and Cullen had to admit that there was something a bit nerve-wracking in being looked over like this, but soon any discomfort he might’ve felt was replaced with desire. There was awe in Alistair's expression, and love, and pure sharp want, which made for a heady combination.

They weren't standing very far from each other, so all Alistair had to do was reach out his hand, and he’d be touching Cullen. He waited for that first touch with bated breath, and let it out in a rush as Alistair’s fingers brushed over his stomach.

Alistair’s touching was light, almost teasing as he moved up his stomach and chest, only Cullen knew this time he wasn’t purposely teasing him, just acting cautiously. He wanted to press Alistair’s palm to his skin, to feel it hot and firm against himself, but at the same time he didn’t want to deny him what he wished to do.

“Maker,” Alistair whispered, “you look…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, instead continuing his slow exploration.

“You also look,” Cullen said, a laugh in his voice.

“Are you making fun of me?” Alistair asked, his thumb brushing over Cullen’s nipple, making him moan.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responded, a bit breathy.

“It sounded like you did. It sounded like you were making fun of me for being so overcome with your beauty that I couldn’t form words properly.”

“Who says I’m also not overcome with your beauty?”

“I can accept that.” Alistair grinned at him. “You can touch me too, you know.”

Oh. There was a thought. Why didn’t he figure this out before? Perhaps he was indeed overcome. Slowly, he moved his hand up, placing it on Alistair’s chest, over his heart. He felt it beating rapidly under his palm.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

“Just excited.”

“That’s all right. I’m nervous too,” Cullen confided.

Alistair removed his hand from him.

“If you don’t want to…” he started.

Cullen didn’t wish to debate this further. He wanted this, his intention was just to acknowledge their nerves, in order to get past them. Instead of speaking, he just moved his hand up, curling it around the back of Alistair’s neck, and brought him in for a kiss. 

It was easier to touch him like this, when he didn’t have to talk or think too much, Alistair’s mouth seeming to shut down some higher functions from his mind. No longer uncertain, he familiarized himself with the dipping and curving muscles on Alistair’s chest and back, his skin hot under his touch. 

He tried to memorize which touch made Alistair make what sounds, but kept getting distracted as Alistair touched him back, no longer hesitant. There was the decisive pressure of a large hand on his back, and then strong fingers were tracing the contour of his stomach, moving lower, and…

Cullen broke the kiss, groaning, when Alistair wrapped his hand around his cock. His hips twitched, which Alistair probably took as encouragement, starting to move his hand. This was nothing like his own hand - unexpected, unfamiliar, and so intense.

He opened his eyes, noticing Alistair watching him. It should be embarrassing, but wasn’t. He was too far gone now to worry. He gasped again and saw Alistair’s smile widen.

“You know what would be even better?”

Culle shook his head. At the moment he couldn’t.

“If you were naked. If I could touch you with no barriers.”

Another excellent idea. Cullen immediately moved to take of his breeches, but Alistair stopped him.

“May I?” His voice was lower than normally, and Cullen shivered.

“If I can do the same.”

He didn’t want this to be a one sided thing. He wanted to touch Alistair, to feel his… Maker, he was going to see his cock, have it in his hand. His fingers trembled with the desire to touch, to feel.

“By all means.” Alistair grinned.

They moved urgently, fingers gone clumsy as they pulled too impatiently on the strings of their breeches, which finally gave way, and they pushed the material over their hips. Cullen watched transfixed as Alistair’s body was revealed to him. The strong lines of his stomach, which dipped down, down, leading to his cock, which stood hard and thick among dark curls. He imagined it before, alone, in his bed, late at night, when such things were permissible, and it wasn’t ever quite like this. This was very real, and even more exciting. Alistair’s cock was definitely thicker that he thought it was going to be, and he couldn’t have pictured exactly the veins that run along the shaft or how red the head was going to be.

Without thinking, he reached out, taking the erection into his hand, feeling the solid weight and the soft skin. Alistair gasped, and Cullen looked up to see his face. He moved his hand and observed Alistair’s features contorting - lips moving on ragged breaths, jaw tightening, brow creasing. He wasn’t sure what was arousing him more - the feeling of Alistair's cock in his hand or the sight of his face, the knowledge that he was causing it to look like this.

Whatever was the answer, he wanted more. Standing like this wouldn’t do, so he gently pushed on Alistair’s shoulder, directing him to his bed. That motion made Alistair open his eyes, a questioning expression on his face.

“I want you on your back on my bed,” Cullen explained.

“Ordering me around?” Alistair questioned, lifting one brow, nonetheless letting Cullen lead him.

“Do you mind?” Cullen asked, already finding the answer in the bit of pre come at the tip of Alistair’s cock.

“Me? Mind? No. I don’t mind. What’s the opposite of mind?” The backs of his legs hit the mattress and he sat down on it.

“The opposite of mind is…” Cullen leaned down and kissed him.

With a little maneuvering, they found themselves in the center of the bed, Cullen hovering over Alistair, his hand never ceasing its movements. He was finding his rhythm slowly, the right speed and pressure to make Alistair gasp against his lips, but then Alistair was touching him, those long calloused fingers wrapping around his own cock, and all the control he had before has evaporated. He groaned and bucked his hips and heard Alistair laughing.

He wanted to scowl down at him for that, but Alistair used the moment of his distraction to push him to his side. It was more comfortable, to be sure. He didn’t have to hold himself up on one arm, and so he moved it to touch Alistair, trying to keep going, even if part of him just wanted to lay there and  _ feel _ .

Almost as if it had a mind of its own, his hand slipped even lower, his fingers digging into Alistair's behind. That elicited a particularly deep moan.

“I’m going to…” Alistair managed.

He was going to make him come, Cullen realized, and that though pushed him closer to his own end.

“Do it, come for me,” he murmured. “I want to see it.”

Alistair made some kind of strangled sound, between a curse and Cullen’s name, his back arched, and he was coming. Cullen watched him, not sure if he wanted to focus on his beautiful face, twisting in pleasure or his strong body, shaking with the force of what he was feeling. Everything was new to him, and he was drinking it in. Even the wet feeling of Alistair’s seed on his hand was strangely arousing.

When he was done, Alistair opened his eyes and grinned broadly.

“We should’ve been doing this from the start,” he said, between panting breaths.

“There’s a right time for everything,” Cullen responded.

“Well, I believe now it’s you time.”

Without preamble, Alistair rolled Cullen to his back, and started touching him again, hand insistent around his erection. That would’ve been enough, but then he started kissing Cullen’s neck, his tongue on his pulsepoint, and Cullen was coming, holding on to Alistair for dear life as pleasure shot through him over and over.

Feeling something like this, and then opening his eyes to see Alistair’s face right over him, had to be some new height of perfection. Cullen felt himself smiling broadly. With what felt like supreme effort, he lifted his head and captured Alistair’s lips in a slow kiss. It wasn’t helping him regain his breathing, but who needed breathing anyway?

Finally he allowed Alistair to lay down next to him. Almost immediately, their hands tangled, fingers intertwined.

“And I thought what we did yesterday was good.” Alistair laughed.

“It was.”

“But it was not like this. After I’ve touched you like this, with no pesky clothes to stop me, I’m never going back,” Alistair voved.

“You don’t have to go back,” Cullen assured him. 

“In that case…” Alistair propped his head on his hand as he turned to look at Cullen, “I think we may try how that will feel without any clothes between us.”

To feel Alistair’s cock sliding along his, with nothing separating them… That was very appealing.

“I love you, you know,” he said.

“Whew.” Alistair wiped his brow in a theatrical gesture. “And there I was, thinking you were just using me for my body.”

“You’re absurd.” Cullen laughed, pushing at his arm, making him lay on his back again.

“Give me a moment and I’ll show you how absurd I am.”

He really was absurd, Cullen decided, noticing that with those words, Alistair was asleep again. Sighing, he got up, found some cloth to clean himself and Alistair, and gathered their clothes, before settling next to him on the bed.

He was expecting a peaceful sleep, but he was far from complaining, when some time later Alistair woke him up with kisses, murmuring how sorry he was for falling asleep. 

“Good thing you don’t even have to move to make it up to me,” Cullen told him, moving on top of him.

It didn’t take much for both of them to be hard and desperate again. Maybe it would’ve gone easier if they’d have something to ease the way, Cullen reflected later, but in the moment there was nothing better than the feeling of Alistair’s erection next to his as they rutted against each other, Alistair’s hands on his back and ass, holding him close. They came almost at the same time, their names on each other’s lips.

The days and weeks that followed that night Cullen remembered mostly as a blur of pleasure. Any moment they could, they spend in each other’s arms, getting better and better at what they did, learning each other’s bodies, until they felt as familiar as their own.

Possibly the most memorable was the day after a particularly gruelling training session. Cullen ended up paired with Gregor, one of the noble boys who kept trying to make his life difficult. Despite almost always ending up beaten by Cullen, he still begun every sparring match with taunting comments, this time swearing he was going to show Cullen his place, which was apparently groveling in the dirt. After years of dealing with such behaviour, Cullen found it easy to tune his words out. He cleared his mind, took a steadying breath, and awaited Gregor’s opening attack.

He was strong, overwhelming most other boys, Cullen couldn’t deny that, but Gregor lacked patience and strategic forethought. He charged blindly, hitting hard when he connected, but failing miserably when he was outmaneuvered. That day, to Cullen’s surprise, he was moving slower, with some deliberation. Perhaps he was learning at last, but that didn’t mean he’d best Cullen.

Their match lasted longer than it usually did, which definitely played to Cullen’s strength, allowing him to tire Gregor out. He kept blocking his blows, and at last saw his opening, when Gregor moved away to charge. Cullen stepped away from his path at the last moment, turning on his hill and knocking him flat on his face with his shield. Gregor swore as he turned to his back, swingingly wildly. With practiced ease, Cullen knocked the sword from his hand and stood over him with a decisively unpleasant smile on his face. He offered him his hand, just like their trainer always told the to do, fully aware that Gregor was going to reject it.

Just like he expected, Gregor let out a string of vile curses and pushed himself up. Satisfied, Cullen went to return the practice sword and shield, receiving pats on the back and complements from the other boys he was friendly with. He looked around, searching for Alistair, knowing that he was always particularly happy when Cullen gave the snobbish boy a solid beating. To his surprise, Cullen spotted him far away, by the nearest entrance to the palace.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” he asked, when he reached him.

“You. Me. The empty room at the end of the corridor,” was all Alistair said.

That was not a proposition Cullen was going to turn down, even if he was rather sweaty and tired. They walked quickly to the intended room, and as soon as they were inside, Alistair was kissing him hungrily.

“Maker, I love seeing you like this,” he murmured in Cullen’s ear, “all strong and powerful.” He nuzzled against Cullen’s throat, making him sigh.

“That’s why you took me here?”

“Yes,” Alistair admitted. “Is that weird?” he asked quickly, and Cullen could practically feel him blushing.

“No. That’s… I like the idea that my fighting does such things to you. But I’m a bit worried I’ll be distracted with that thought during future sparring matches.”

“You’ll be fine.”

With that Alistair was kissing him, pressing his body into Cullen’s, effectively ending the conversation.

Cullen expected him to open his breeches and take him in hand, but apparently Alistair had other plans. He pulled away and sunk to his knees. Cullen let out a shocked moan. They haven’t done _ that _ before. Was Alistair really going to...?

“May I?” he questioned. It was both sweet and slightly amusing how polite he was, despite being on his knees, about to do something very  _ im _ polite.

“Yes please.”

Alistair wasted no time, quickly working on the fastenings of Cullen’s breeches. Cullen was already familiar with the feeling of his hand and the sensation of being exposed before him, but what he was definitely not familiar with was the gentle pressure of a wet tongue at the tip of his cock. He knew he should keep quiet, seeing as anyone could be walking by, but he couldn’t help groaning. He bit down on his fist as Alistair started licking around the head. Maker, but that was an incredible feeling.

And it was not just the feeling. It was also the sight before him,  _ under _ him - seeing his friend, his lover, his prince down on his knees, tongue poking from between full lips to lick at him relentlessly. It was also the knowledge that he wanted to please him in such a way, that it was his idea, that he was aroused by Cullen’s fighting prowess and wanted to express it in such a way.

There was going to be marks on his fingers, he was sure, as he bit into them, trying to keep silent as Alistair took the tip into his mouth and started sucking. That,  _ that _ was beyond words. The finger’s of Cullen’s other hand scratched against the wood of the doors. He couldn’t contain himself. Alistair was valiantly trying to take more and more of him into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue moving relentlessly. It was all too much. He was approaching his end embarrassingly rapidly.

“Alistair,” he managed to whisper, removing his fist from his mouth. “Alistair, love, I’m about to…” he worned.

His answer was a smile. Alistair was smiling with his mouth full of cock, which was possibly the most obscene and beautiful thing Cullen’s ever seen. He couldn’t hold on anymore, and so he let go, succumbing to that divine feeling. He wasn’t sure how so much pleasure was possible. He clamped his hand over his mouth, sure that if he didn’t, he’d scream so hard half the palace would run to find out what was happening. He felt Alistair swallowing, his mouth still working, prolonging his orgasm until it was almost too intense.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Alistair pulling off and wiping his mouth. He sat there on his hunches, his breeches visibly tented.

“Maker, you find new ways of blowing my mind every day,” Cullen said, awed.

“I don’t think it was just your mind…” Alistair grinned shamelessly.

“You’re terrible and crass and I love you.” Cullen offered a hand, which Alistair accepted, rising to his feet. “Your turn.”

He spun Alistair around, so that now he was the one against the door, and reached for his breeches, pulling out his cock and starting to stroke. It didn’t take long before Alistair was crushing his mouth to Cullen’s in an attempt to muffle his gasps as he came.

“That was quick,” Cullen observed, wiping his hand and working on redoing his breeches, as Alistair did the same.

“Hey! I was just… I really liked doing… that to you.”

“You did?”

Cullen knew he enjoyed himself, but he wasn’t sure such a task would be very pleasant to the one performing it. He wanted to try it one day, but was perhaps a tiny bit worried.

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I did.”

“Good.” Cullen smiled. “No need to explain. I’d rather find out on my own.”

Alistair’s eyes went wide.

“Tonight,” Cullen told him. “After supper come to my room.”

“I’ll be definitely coming,” Alistair deadpanned.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know. And still you love me.”

There was no denying that. Instead, Cullen kissed that smug smirk from his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the smut chapter, finally. Hope it wasn't disappointing.


	6. Chapter 6

Alistair paced back and forth before the doors to his father’s private chambers. He needed to do this. There was no turning back. Still, he worried.

It’s been over six months since the ball. Over six months since he and Cullen confessed their feelings. This were months of discovery, of joy, and of pleasure, but also months of sneaking around, looking over their shoulders and hiding. Even if they had to pretend before the entire court and country, Alistair felt like he shouldn’t keep this from his father.

Part of the reason for this was the fact that he was fairly sure his brother was suspecting something, and if he knew, he was bound to tell their father.

The first time Alistair remembered Cailan making any kind of allusion was the morning after the night when he and Cullen were truly intimate for the first time. They couldn’t help smiling broadly, and Cailan must’ve noticed. 

“I see you two had a very good night,” he remarked.

Alistair mumbled something about it being a nice day, but felt his stupid cheeks heating up, which made Cailan grin at him.

That one incident could be dismissed, but there were others like it. 

One night Alistair got a bit carried away, and accidentally left a mark on Cullen’s throat. They laughed about it, and the following days Cullen wore high collared shirts. No one made anything of it, but Cailan strode up to them one afternoon and looked at Cullen curiously.

“Did you suddenly discover your love of high collars or are you hiding something?” he asked.

Cullen didn’t respond, looking anywhere but at the prince. Cailan just laughed and walked away.

Alistair and Cullen had a lengthy conversation about Cailan’s behaviour, in the end not coming to any resolutions. He didn’t say anything explicit, so even if he suspected something, calling him out on it could bring more harm than good.

And so it continued, with Cailan smirking at them and making various comments, remarking when they were particularly happy or tired for example, and them trying desperately not to give him any more information.

But even if Cailan weren’t so disturbingly observant, Alistair suspected he’d still want to confide in his father. He couldn’t lead him on, making him think he was going to make some advantageous mach. His father deserved the truth. They were always honest with each other, and Alistair wanted it to remain so.

He discussed that course of action with Cullen first, of course. It was as much his choice as Alistair’s. His future at court depended on the king’s understanding. Cullen always respected and revered the king, wanting to make him proud and never regret the decision to take him with them to Denerim. He worried that the king would now see him as someone who corrupted his son, but still he agreed that he needed to hear the truth about their relationship from Alistair, before anyone else could paint a much worse picture of what they were to each other.

Whatever happened, they’d stay together - that’s what they promised each other. If worst came to worst, there were always the Grey Wardens. Or Orlais with its cakes. Those were mostly jokes, but the point remained - nothing would tear them apart.

Alistair didn’t tell him he was coming to see his father this day. It was enough that he worried. Cullen didn’t need to. He’d find out the result of the conversation soon enough.

He stopped his pacing. This was it. He wouldn’t run. He’d face whatever was going to happen. 

He knocked.

“Come in,” his father called out.

Alistair opened the doors and walked in, finding his father behind his desk, papers piled all around him.

“Good of you to come, Alistair. I was dying for a distraction.” King Maric smiled at him.

“I…” He took a breath. “Father, I have something very important to tell you.”

“Is everything alright? You sound anxious.”

Alistair laughed nervously.

“We’ll see if it’s alright.”

“That’s very cryptic, son. Should I worry?”

“I don’t know.” Alistair started pacing again. “This is big. Very big. Huge. Life altering. You have to know this. I have to tell you before someone else does.”

“Would you stand still for a moment, Alistair? You’re making me dizzy.”

Alistair stopped dutifully, and instead started wringing his hands.

“Whatever happens, whatever you think, whatever you say, I won’t change. This is not something that will pass. This is permanent, true.”

“I didn’t say anything yet, son.”

“I know what people think, what they say. But you’ve told me yourself, people can be shallow and judgmental, and we can’t let their prejudices influence us.”

“Very wise words.”

“So I hope you’ll find it in yourself to understand, to accept this.”

“I’m sure I will, if you tell me what this is about.”

“Well, I just want you to know that if you don’t, then I’m just going to leave.”

“There’s no need for blackmail just yet.” His father laughed. He still looked kind, despite the strange rant Alistair went on, and that acceptance finally gave him the courage to say what he came to say.

“Father, I love Cullen.”

Before he could panic at hearing the words out loud, his father said, “I know.”

“No.” Alistair sighed. “Not like a friend. I mean, yes, in that way too, but mostly I’m  _ in _ love with him.”

“I know.”

“This is not brotherly. I don’t love him like a friend. I love him in a… romantic way.”

King Maric rolled his eyes.

“Yes, son, I know. I knew what you meant the first time.”

“You… You did?” Alistair wasn’t sure what he felt. Shock? Fear? Relief?

“I’ve known for a while now.”

“A while?” Alistair’s voice sounded oddly shrill. “What’s ‘a while’?”

“Years? I’m not sure.”

“Years?!” This was unbelieveable. “And you said nothing?”

“What was I going to say?”

“I don’t know! Something!”

“You needed to work this out yourselves.”

“So you’re not against this?” Now there was definitely hope rising within Alistair.

“Against? Maker no.” King Maric sounded very certain. “He’s good for you. He’s been good to you since that awful summer in Honnleath. Bringing  him to Denerim was one of my best decisions.”

“You truly don’t mind?” Alistair could hardly believe this was so easy.

“I’m glad for you two. These past months you’ve both been so very happy.” His father smiled broadly, and Alistair felt like crumbling to the floor, the relief practically overwhelming him.

“We have. It’s stupid that it took us this long, but here we are. And you’re absolutely fine with that?” Alistair had to make sure.

“I’m not going senile, Alistair. I know what you say and what I say. You have my blessing, if that’s what you want. Although, I think it should be Cullen asking for my blessing in this case.”

“I’ll pass that on.”

They both laughed.

“In all seriousness, I think you shouldn’t go public with your feelings. Not until after I knight Cullen.”

Alistair scrunched his brows.

“Going public? We didn’t even consider that a possibility.”

“I’m not saying you’ll be able to marry him. I’m not sure people would take it well, whatever I’d say or do. But you shouldn’t hide forever.”

“How would that even look?” Was he dreaming? Did his father just suggest that he and Cullen could lead a somewhat open life?

“I’m not entirely sure. Let’s play it by ear. I don’t want to make you any promises I can’t keep, but know this - I will always love you, and I’ll do everything in my power to make this easy on you.”

Alistair felt tears welling in his eyes. His father was so good, so understanding. Before he could say his thanks, there was a knock on the doors. 

“Who’s there?” the king demanded.

“It’s me, Your Majesty,” came Cullen’s voice.

Alistair and king Maric looked at each other in confusion.

“Come in,” the king invited.

“Cailan told me to come here,” Cullen said, closing the doors behind himself.

“Cailan?” Alistair questioned. What was his brother’s play here?

“Yes. He said I should be here for this. Whatever  _ this _ is. He wouldn’t say.” Cullen shrugged. 

“He’s a sneaky thing.” King Maric laughed. “Since you’re here, Cullen, you might as well ask me for my blessing.”

“Pardon?” Cullen sounded disoriented.

The king grinned, and Alistair was half annoyed at him and half amused.

“My blessing. For your relationship with my son.”

Cullen’s eyes bulged. He practically swayed on his feet, his cheeks turning red.

“It’s alright,” Alistair told him. “I’ve explained everything and father supports us.”

“He does?” Cullen whispered, as if disbelieving. “You do, Your Majesty?”

“I do, Cullen. I absolutely do.”

Cullen’s shoulders slumped as he sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. This means more than I can say. I’ll never let you down. I’ll never let Alistair down. I swear.”

“I know you won’t.” The king smiled at him. “So about that blessing…”

“I thought you were joking, father,” Alistair interjected.

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“This is absurd,” Alistair grumbled. What was this? Who did his father think he was?

Cullen didn’t seem to have a problem with the situation.

“Your Majesty,” he started, “I humbly ask you to give your blessing for my relationship with your son. I love him more than words can express and I’ll always try to make him happy.”

“Blessing granted.”

The king got up from his desk and embraced them both in turn.

“I think this deserves a toast,” he announced. “Let’s find something appropriate. Those letters will keep, I think.”

“A moment, father,” Alistair stopped him. “Does Cailan know?”

“Of course.”

“Did he tell you about us, Your Majesty?” Cullen asked.

“I think we’re way past all this ‘Your Majesty’ nonsense. I’ve been telling you to stop for ages, but now that you’re practically my son in law, you really must stop. At least in private.”

Cullen seemed to be thinking it over, at last deciding not to defy the king.

“How shall I address you then?”

“Father will be fine,” the king answered. Before Cullen could object, he continued. “And to answer your question - Cailan did discuss this with me, but I knew even before then. You must know that he talked to me to help you.”

“Help us?” Alistair was incredulous. 

“Yes. He’s a bit brash or thoughtless at times, but he cares for you, wants you to be happy.”

Realization dawned on Alistair.

“So that night in the courtyard he didn’t want to cause me trouble. He wanted us to resolve the situation!”

That was a very interesting thought. His brother accepted him as well, and in his own way tried to do right by him.

“I’m a lucky man,” he said, smiling, looking at the father who stood behind him, and the man who loved him unconditionally. Even his idiot brother proved decent. Despite all the difficulties he’s experienced, this was one good life he was leading.

 

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who've left kudos and comments. I appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this AU all the way back in summer, and only now managed to write it down. The story is practically done, so it will be updated regularly. It's slightly different than what I've been doing up to this point, but I hope it's all right. Comments and kudos would be much appreciated.
> 
> If any Divide and Conquer readers are here, I want to assure you that I'm most definitely not giving up on that story. I've already started writing the next chapter. I'm not sure how long it'll take me, but it will be there.


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